What Would Jimmy Do?

When we lived in Manila, there was a hotel that had a restaurant on top. The views at night from there were, needless to say, very pretty. We didn’t go there often, but some friends of ours went quite regularly. One of the soups on the menu was corn and crab — not particularly unusual for that part of the world, but I have to admit, that restaurant’s version was particularly good.

The wife of the couple that made the restaurant a regular stop told us numerous times that she would love to have the recipe, but it was apparently a closely guarded secret. She even told a story that some famous magazine, like Gourmet, had requested the recipe and been refused. We went to that roof-top restaurant a number of times with the couple — always ordering the soup — but after about a year, their tour was up and they left, being assigned back to Washington.

Some time after they left, we went to the restaurant by our selves one night — and of course, ordered the soup. Claire remarked to the waiter how much she liked the soup and wished she had the recipe. A few minutes later, he brought her the recipe with the compliments of the cook.
(Claire did mail the recipe to our friends.)

A couple of years after we were married, I was working in Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia. I had been there a week or so and Claire was going to meet me in Singapore when I was done in Kuala Lumpur. But it turns out that she got an earlier flight to Kuala Lumpur the day before I was due to leave and we had decided to take the train from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore. The afternoon that she arrived, I picked her up at the airport and took her to the Embassy while if finished up there. She left her suitcase at the embassy because the embassy driver was going to pick us up and take us to the train station the next day. She only took her “overnight” bag with her to the hotel.

Since I’d been there for a week, all the hotel staff knew me and they all greeted Claire with a smile and a bow. We went out to dinner that night and when we came back to the hotel, the room boy knocked on the door and wanted to know if we’d like to have some champagne or something. Since we’d just had dinner, I said no.
As luck would have it, during the night, I got a phone call that something had gone wrong at the embassy and I’d have to stop by before I left. The next morning, I told Claire to go ahead on to the train station with the driver and the luggage and I’d catch up. After she left, I went downstairs to wait for another car to take me to the embassy. While I was waiting, the room boy came up to me and said that the next time I wanted a Western woman to visit me, to let him know, because he could arrange something much better than I had done on my own last night.

I couldn’t wait to get on the train and tell Claire what the room boy had said. I think her response was something like, “I doubt that very much.” 
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To say I’ve led a blessed life would be a major understatement. Right now, with the loss of Claire, my mind is just all over the place and it’s hard to sleep or concentrate on anything. But thinking of all our experiences and adventures together has brought back memories of all the friends we’ve met over the years. Some I hadn’t thought of for a long time, some I can’t even tell you that I remember them, but they’re all a part of our lives and we often talked about them when we were alone.

Yesterday, while I was remembering things about Claire, I thought of a friend of ours that was one of the more unique people I’ve ever met. I can’t tell you his name, or where we met or even some of the things we experienced together…..

He had been many things in life. A young war hero, he had a scandalous love affair and was a military attaché that was sent to jail as a war criminal, he had a law degree, and was a diplomat, among other things. He spoke several languages. He was also a great cook — he taught cooking and wrote a cookbook. 

He was also a spy — working in lots of places all over the world. He worked very hard to defeat the Communist movement. Those of us who knew him and worked with him, remember him with admiration. He was one of a kind — like no one I’d ever known — before or since. We learned of his passing a few years ago. That’s one of the sad things about some careers — people come and go, and it’s almost impossible to stay in touch for a number of reasons. I often wonder if any of the “group” attended his funeral. I suspect some kind words were spoken at his farewell, but certainly nothing was said, or even whispered, of his real accomplishments.
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We’re beginning to hear a lot about the Olympics in the news as the opening ceremonies grow closer. I guess now would be a good time to talk marathons. If you check the archives of this blog, you can find out how the official distance of a marathon came about. But today I’d like to talk about maybe the “original” marathon runner in whose name the modern marathon was established….

To start at the beginning, Marathon was a place before it was a race — consisting of ten square miles of open land just northeast of Athens. During the summer of of 490 B.C., it was a battlefield where the soldiers of the Greek army fought the Persians. The Greeks were the underdogs, being outnumbered by the Persians by more than two to one.

The Greek general, Militates, knew he was outnumbered and decided what he needed was some Spartans (Greece’s best trained and fiercest soldiers.) The army had a stable of messengers — runners who were the elite athletes of the day, trained to cross difficult terrain in a short amount of time. The general sent his strongest messenger, Pheidippides (fi-DIP-uh-dees) to go for some Spartans. 

 Pheidippides ran nearly 100 miles, up and down hills in the summer heat, through enemy territory to the Spartan camp. When he arrived, the Spartans were in the middle of a religious ceremony, so the Greek army would have to wait a few days for reinforcements. Pheidippides then ran back to camp to give Militates the bad news. 

So, without reinforcements, Militates waged a brilliant attack on the Persians by using smaller, faster, lighter units of troops to surround the slower, more numerous Persian troops. The Persians retreated back to their ships.
Turns out that the Spartans arrived later that same day.

Obviously, Militates was pleased with his victory so he dispatched his best runner to bring the good news to Athens — a distance of almost 25 miles. Pheidippides raced to Athens, entered the city, and exclaimed, “Nike!” (which means “victory”) — I’m pretty sure the shoe company had heard this story…. but — then Pheidippides collapsed and died.
The modern marathon was established in Pheidippides’s honor.
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When I was in Vietnam, due to lack of any reliable telephone service, we all had multiple radios in our houses and ones we carried with us. I was on several “official” radio nets, but the relatively small number of “common” guys had their own private net — the Whiskey Net…. with call signs like Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker, Old Grandad, etc. One of these days I’ll get around to posting some Whiskey Net stories.

But — back to today’s story…. My first trip to Can Tho (located near the mouth of the Mekong Delta, south of Saigon) turned out to be pretty interesting. I went down to repair a piece of equipment in the communications center of the American Consulate and to consult with a fairly high-ranking ARVN general about upgrading their communications in Can Tho. I was assigned an “apartment”  on the ground floor of a four story building across the street from the consulate. And I was given a radio — the consulate’s radio net was the Charlie Net — I was assigned the call sign Charlie Ten.

I had just barely walked into my apartment the first night, when the sound of exploding ordnance caught my attention. There was the first explosion, then a second, and a third….  my newly acquired radio started squawking and hissing continually. People were asking if anybody knew what was going on, and it seemed like no one did. From the sounds, I figured it must be a mix of mortars and rockets — but there didn’t seem to be any letup in the shelling. The radio was blaring things like, is everybody alright and what’s happening? Then suddenly, I heard, “Charlie Ten. Get up on the roof. We need damage reports.” In case you forgot, I was Charlie Ten. The radio was still babbling and I couldn’t make much sense of all the noise. 

Now during a rocket attack, the last place you want to be is in the open up on a roof — you want to be under cover, near the ground. But I was told to go to the roof, so I went to the roof. It looked like about half the city was burning — some of the embers from the fires were falling on the roof — I stamped them out the best I could. The building I was staying in was surrounded by a wall and I could see big crowds of people approaching from the direction of the fires to get away from the shelling. There was an armed guard at the gate in the wall, but I didn’t see how he could do much if the crowd decided they wanted to come in to the courtyard.

So having gone to the roof and assessed the damage, I went back down to my apartment. The radio was still squawking and suddenly I heard the demanding voice of the Base Chief, “Where’s Charlie Ten?” “Anybody know if he’s ok?” I keyed the mike and said, “This is Charlie Ten.” “All’s well here.” The Base Chief, clearly annoyed, said, “Where have you been?” “Why didn’t you report in sooner?”
I made up some story about the door being stuck and I couldn’t get off the roof.
Luckily, I was able to repair the equipment in the consulate and the meetings with the general went well, so my less than acceptable damage reporting was kind of forgiven.
— 30 —

Yesterday I mentioned being in Ethiopia and celebrating Meskel — a holiday in commemoration of the Finding of the True Cross. I thought the True Cross might be a good topic for today….

Meskal is an annual religious Ethiopian holiday among Orthodox Christian believers. It takes place near the end of September. In addition to its religious values, Meskel coincides with the end of the main rainy season and the onset of Ethiopian spring.

Meskal is also a time when many urbanites return to their villages. The villages celebrate Demera — a ceremonial burning of a large bonfire. The faithful paint their foreheads with the ash from the bonfire as a gesture of good will. The event is conducted on the eve of Meskel to recall the smoke that supposedly led Empress Helena to the site of the True Cross. Here’s the story as I understand it….

The True Cross, upon which Christ had been crucified, was thrown in a ditch and then covered with litter until Empress Helena, mother of Constantine, the first Christian Emperor of Rome, discovered the location of the three crosses that were believed to be used at the crucifixion of Jesus and the two thieves that were executed with Him. Empress Helena had a revelation in a dream to make a bonfire and the smoke would show her where the True Cross was buried. So she ordered the people to bring wood and make a huge pile. Frankincense was added to the pile and then lit. The smoke rose up into the sky and returned to the ground, exactly at the spot where the True Cross had been buried. 

The national feast of Demera is held at Miskel Square, a big square in Addis Ababa, every year in commemoration of Finding of the True Cross. The celebration dates back 1600 years….
Today, Meskel also marks the start of tourist season in Ethiopia — tourists from many countries converge on Ethiopia to enjoy the ceremonies during the Meskel celebrations. 
— 30 —

I’ve always liked hot or spicy food. One of a number of places known for spicy food is Ethiopia. Years ago, I was TDY in Addis Ababa and as luck would have it, one of my good friends was assigned there and lived in a nice house along with his wife and little girl. While I was there, I had a number of meals with them. One dish that their cook made was one of my favorites. It consisted of a highly seasoned meat sauce made from mutton, beef, or chicken, spiced with the local hot pepper. The sauce was ladled onto a flat bread that was kind of like a spongy, flat pancake. Then the bread was rolled around the meat sauce, like what we call a “wrap.” You ate it like a sandwich. 

It turns out that I was there during the latter part of September when there is a big festival called Meskel — a holiday that is celebrated in commemoration of the Finding of the True Cross. Meskel means the cross in Amharic. 

But to finish my story, the mutton version of my favorite food is the favored dish for that annual festival  held near the end of September. 
My friend’s household help lived in a separate house behind my friend’s house and they had been feeding and raising a small lamb since the spring in anticipation of the holiday feast. It turns out that my friend’s daughter had become very fond of the lamb. 

On the day of the festival, the “servants” invited my friend and his family to dinner at their house. I was also invited. We had drinks and then there was a big ceremony in presenting the main dish — my favorite — made of lamb. Needless to say it devastated their little girl. The lamb had become a pet to her and she couldn’t believe anyone could eat it — especially her. I remember my friend trying to explain to the hosts why she was so upset — they were very gracious, but I’m sure they really didn’t get it.

I think this is a funny story, but it’s also a really sad story — I can imagine how that little girl felt. One of the cruel lessons of life we all have to learn growing up, I suppose…..
— 30 —

I’m not sure why, but I thought of something today that I hadn’t thought about in a long time.
When we Lived in Manila, in the Philippines, it was almost like living in the United States. There  was the old part of Manila, that was more like you’d expect, but around the old section, it had become a very modern, clean, efficient Asian city. There were shopping centers with chrome and glass department stores and unlike a lot of our overseas posts, just about anything and everything was available. 

And — it was one of those places where Americans were genuinely liked.The Filipinos celebrated just about every American holiday and followed lots of “American” customs. The stores were always decorated for Christmas, they had Thanksgiving dinners, etc. 

Anyhow, the first year we were there, my boss had a six year old daughter and she wanted to go trick or treating on Halloween. My boss was out of town and he’d asked me to take his daughter trick or treating. They lived out in one of the “villages” in a suburb of Manila. So I went out after work and his daughter was dressed up like some kind of a creature — I don’t remember what — but it was probably from some movie or something and she had a couple of her friends with her, also dressed for trick or treating. We started down her street and knocked on the first door and no one answered. The next house had the porch light on — a good sign. So she knocked on the door. The door was opened by what looked to be a pretty old woman. She took one look, screamed, and slammed the door. We were all a little surprised and were just about to turn away and leave when the door opened again. The woman threw a large bucket of water on us — and, continued to scream. 
Just a word of warning — apparently Halloween isn’t celebrated in the Philippines. At least it wasn’t back then….
— 30 —

I’ve talked about my favorite restaurants a few times on this blog over the years. Usually Claire and myself had similar opinions of the places we ate, and I recently came across a memento that reminded me of a particular night, long ago, at one of our favorite restaurants.

It was one night at Oscar’s. Oscar’s was an old-fashioned restaurant in an old house. It was almost hidden by palm trees near the edge of the water, in Monrovia, Liberia. We both thought the food was good, especially compared to the other African eateries in Monrovia. Claire’s only complaint was the giant cockroaches that often went trotting across the tabletops.

One particular night we were dining with a good friend, and his wife, that was assigned to Monrovia. We had a huge meal of very spicy curry and quite a lot of Heineken beer. Then our friends insisted that we have Oscar’s famous dessert. Turns out that their famous dessert was Crepes Suzette. Against my better judgement, we agreed, and all the wait staff seemed delighted — we were about to find out why….

Oscar’s “crepe master” arrived at our table wheeling a cart filled with crepe making paraphernalia and lots of liquor bottles. The “master” was an old Liberian — must have been at least 80 or 85 years old, but he was enthusiastic and very dressed up, wearing a coat with tails. He proceeded to heat the crepe pan over an open flame, poured the batter in and flipped the crepes like the chefs you see on TV. He went through the whole routine and put on quite a show…. but boy did he use a lot of booze. He poured in cognac, and more cognac, and then Grand Marnier, and then some more and then Cointreau. The sauce looked like a big bowl of soup, and most of it was some kind of alcohol. I think he probably added a couple more shots for good measure. But anyhow, he folded the crepes like blankets and poured the sauce (soup) over them and of course added some extra cognac on top. Then he ignited them like flaming volcanoes (that were swimming in moats of liquor.) 

Claire mentioned that if we ever went back to Oscars, she’d just order the crepes — she thought the alcohol fumes must have done the roaches in because we didn’t see any during dessert.
Claire used to make really good crepes, but she had to admit she couldn’t top Oscar’s…. and she could never have crepes without thinking of Oscar’s.
— 30 —

Julius wasn’t the only famous Roman with the name Caesar .
Gaius Caesar was the emperor of Rome from A.D. 37 to 41.
He’s remembered as a vicious and cruel ruler, a sadist and someone that suffered from elusions of his own power and importance. And those were the nice things about him.

Gaius Caesar grew up in a military camp where his father’s soldiers nicknamed him “Caligula” — “Little Boots” for the child-size military boots he wore. His father, Germanicus, was a great Roman general and an adopted son of Emperor Tiberius. 
Germanicus’s military victories made him extremely popular with the Roman public. So popular, in fact, that Tiberius became jealous and had him killed. Later, Tiberius killed Caligula’s mother, Agrippina, and Caligula’s brothers.

Historians don’t know why, but Caligula was spared and went to live with Tiberius on the island of Capri. Eventually Caligula gained the confidence of Tiberius and when the emperor died, he named Caligula and his grandson joint heirs to the throne. But Caligula had no interest in sharing power, so he managed to get the Roman senate to declare Tiberius’s will invalid and to choose him as emperor. 

Everything started out good — for the first six months Caligula was a good ruler, but all that changed when he got sick with what was called at the time, “brain fever.” Speculation is that his sickness may have been an attack of encephalitis — a disease that can cause a marked character change and results in behavior similar to schizophrenia. Anyhow, after the illness, Caligula’s character changed completely — he became a vicious tyrant. Historians believe that he probably became insane.
His actions, after his sickness, included only things that a total wacko could think up. Like, murdering most of his family, declaring himself a god, making his horse a senator, emptying the Roman treasury, etc. 

Finally, the Roman people had enough and were ready to give “Little Boots” the boot. Caligula and his fourth wife were killed by the officers of his guard. He was succeeded as emperor by his uncle Claudius — a kinder, gentler emperor. Of course, Caligula had set the bar pretty low……
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